


Un-Restrained

by Natbat



Category: Christopher Dean - Fandom, Figure Skating RPF, Jayne Torvill - Fandom, Torvill & Dean, Torvill and Dean - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, RPF, Restraints, Sex, real dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natbat/pseuds/Natbat
Summary: In Torvill and Dean's autobiography, they recount a prank that Chris played on Jayne back in his policeman days, in which he locked her in his handcuffs and pretended he'd lost the key. I've just... filled in the gaps. We were all thinking it. Some of the dialogue is taken directly from the autobiography.
Relationships: Jayne Torvill/Christopher Dean
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Un-Restrained

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is an RPF which makes obvious references to real people, events and situations. However, all references are made in a fictional context, are not intended to be libelous or defamatory, and any interpretation of real events is entirely imagined.
> 
> Thank you to @girlintheyhat for beta-ing :-)

I slam the door of the Mini and shiver in the frosty air. It’s cold, it’s late, I’m exhausted, but I’m happy. We had a good session at the rink today. The routine is really coming together. Chris even managed to park the Zamboni first time, so that’s got to be an achievement. He notices my shiver and rubs his hands up and down my bare arms. “Come on, let’s get inside.” I almost shudder even more at his touch but manage to push the feeling aside before making my way down the path.

I try and unlock the front door as quietly as possible but I know this is pointless, as Dad always stays up for me, no matter how late. Indeed, as I push the door open I hear him call quietly from the front room, “Hello, dear. Did you have a good skate?” He walks through to the hallway to greet me. I peck him on the cheek and chastise him for not going to bed, but I know it’s no use because he’ll never listen. I can tell he’s been asleep though, and he yawns before giving me a squeeze and nodding towards Chris before heading up the stairs. After grabbing some glasses of orange juice from the kitchen, we’re not far behind him, and I pull my bedroom door shut before throwing myself down on the bed, switching on the lamp on the bedside table and removing my shoes. My feet took a pounding on the ice earlier I can feel some blisters and bruises developing. I make a mental note to give them a soak in the morning. 

Chris dumps his holdall at the end of the bed and sits easily down on the edge. We’ve fallen into this routine quite nicely now. No matter how late we’ve been at the rink, Chris will always see me home first. He’ll sometimes stay a few minutes, sometimes it’ll be hours; time always seems meaningless when we’re talking. We chat about everything… skating, music, work, our families. It’s always so easy with him. After spending all our time together while we practice, it might seem strange to some that I would want to unwind with him as well. But he’s like a totally different person off the ice. He’s still got the drive and the energy, but that impatient, argumentative, perfectionist streak fades away when we’re talking and he becomes the kindest, warmest man alive. And we will talk until we run out of things to say, at which point he will either head off home (via the bus stop if I’m the one that drove), or he’ll fall asleep on the floor. Countless times I’ve woken up the next morning to find him curled up at the foot of my bed, one corner of my duvet hanging down over his sleeping form, his face squashed against the carpet. I glance at the clock and note that there’s no way he’ll be able to get the bus home tonight. Maybe I can get a blanket from the airing cupboard for him this time.

I stretch, flex my feet and allow a little satisfied noise to escape my lips. The soft mattress feels good against my aching muscles. Chris glances at me, eyebrow raised. “Feet hurting?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nod, raising my right foot in the air a little to try and get some blood flowing to my toes. To my surprise, Chris catches my ankle as I lower my leg and starts pushing his thumbs into the soles of my foot. I feel myself tense up, partly in surprise, partly as a physical response to his touch. He has never given me a foot rub before, and it feels… good. Really good. Perhaps a little too good, and I feel myself blushing as he moves on to give my left foot the same treatment, allowing his thumbs and knuckles to work away at the muscles. I bite my lip to keep from making any form of inappropriate noise. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

But Chris’s attention span has never been his strong point, and he abruptly drops my foot with the exclamation, “Oh, hey, I meant to show you this…” And he kneels down and starts rummaging through his bag. I try to brush away my feeling of disappointment as he breaks his touch, and I shift onto my stomach, peering over the edge of the bed so I can see what he’s doing. He finds what he’s looking for and holds it up triumphantly. “I picked this up today, I thought we could listen to it, see if there’s anything we can use.”

I squint in the low light to read the title of the vinyl. The soundtrack to _A Star is Born_. “OK, sounds good to me.” I’m just about to take it from him and put it on the turntable when I notice something glint from the depths of his holdall. Out of curiosity I look a bit more closely. “Have you still got your handcuffs with you?”

He eyes follow my gaze. “Oh, yeah, I didn’t have time to go back to the station tonight.”

I giggle. “I’m surprised they let you take them home!”

“Why?”

“Well, you could get up to all sorts with them…” I feel my cheeks redden again as I realise how that sounded and snatch the record from him, busying myself with cleaning the needle on the player. He doesn’t say a word as I start the music playing and sit back on the bed, arranging the pillows against the headboard so I can lean against it comfortably. But I can feel his eyes on me again, eyebrow raised in amusement, grin plastered across his face. As he reaches down and pulls the cuffs from his bag, there’s a swirling in my stomach, the cause of which I can’t quite identify. Dread, certainly, at the prospect of whatever he’s planning, but also… excitement? And, in an instant, he is on top of me on the bed, straddling me, his knees pushed into the mattress either side of me. OK, definite excitement. “Chris? What are you doing?” My voice sounds about five octaves higher than usual, as desperate as I am to keep my sense of fear and anticipation from him. But his smile doesn’t waver, and I know that look, that glint in his eye that seems to get brighter and brighter.

“Could get up to all sorts? What, like this you mean?” And with one swift movement he grabs my left wrist, slamming one of the cuffs around it whilst simultaneously attaching the other to the headboard above my head. I almost pause to be impressed at his speed and accuracy, but before I know it I am pulling at my wrist, trying feebly to free myself from the restraints, while the rest of my body is pinned to the bed by my partner’s ridiculously strong thighs. I can barely move.

“Chris, come on, let me go. That’s not funny.” But he seems to disagree. He is shaking with laughter, his body vibrating against me. My right hand is free and all I can think to do is hit him with it. 

“Ow!” He cries out in mock pain. 

“Serves you right.” He laughs some more and I can feel his eyes staring, taking me in. I have never felt so vulnerable before, and if this was anyone other than Chris I would be absolutely mortified. As it is, even while I can hear myself protesting, I can’t help but notice how my body seems to be attuned to his every movement, his every glance, every laugh he tries to muffle to keep from waking my parents…

And so we stay for what seems like forever, me captured and helpless beneath him, him biding his time and enjoying the new-found power he has over me. The romantic flare of the soundtrack playing in the background seems hugely inappropriate and suddenly all I want to do is turn it off. I open my mouth to protest again, but he cuts me off. “Alright, Jayne, don’t worry, I won’t keep you like this forever.” And he stands, mattress shifting in response to his movement, and his weight is lifted from me. I take a deep breath laden with twin emotions of relief and disappointment, and watch as he starts sifting through his bag again. 

I try and will my heartbeat to slow while his attention is diverted, and I think I manage to get it down to a normal level. The music distracts me once more and I find myself listening to it whilst I wait for Chris to return with the key. And I wait. And wait. Each second that passes seems like hours… “Chris?”

“Er… Jayne? We might have a problem.” His voice is serious now, no longer teasing. Oh God.

“Wha… what?” I manage to squeak, my voice barely audible.

“I can’t find the key.” At this, a wave of genuine fear washes over me, leaving me cold. I try again to yank against the handcuffs, but it only serves to dig them into my skin and I yelp in pain.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?!” I want to shout at him, but keep my voice to a frustrated whisper, conscious of my sleeping parents in the next room.

He sits by my side, concerned expression plastered across his features. “I’m sorry, it’s gone. I’ve no idea where I could have put it…”

I groan, rubbing my face with my free hand. “Oh my. What are we going to do?”

He considers a moment, looking thoughtful. “I’ll have to phone the station and get them to bring a spare.”

“What? You can’t do that! How’s it going to look?” My squeaky voice is back. But, I notice, so is Chris’s amused expression.

“I don’t know what you mean, Jayne. How does it look?” He leans towards me, so close that I notice a trickle of sweat rolling down his neck. What the hell is he up to?

“You know very well what it looks like, Christopher Dean…” and I’m starting to panic now, pulling as hard as I can on the cuffs and rolling along the bed to try and get away. Before I know it, he’s leaning across me, his whole upper body across mine, pinning me against his left arm which is anchored into my mattress. With his right hand, he brushes my hair out of my eyes.

“Sssshh. Just relax.” My heartbeat is definitely no longer slow. His fingers brush my face so gently that I can’t help but shiver again, his touch teasing and delicious. I hadn’t even realised I’d closed my eyes until he kissed me. I hadn’t seen that coming.

I don’t have time to gasp, my mind is working overtime to take in what is happening. His lips… those lips that I’ve always been slightly distracted by... are warm and welcoming, his kiss gentle and tentative but somehow commanding at the same time. I feel the tension in my body start to dissipate as his kiss becomes more passionate, and before I know it I’ve relaxed almost completely, melting into him. 

He shifts his weight slightly, leaning on his right hip to allow his left hand to be free. I shiver as he trails his fingers across my stomach, teasing the hem of my t-shirt. I flex against him, my back arching, still unable to comprehend what is happening but just knowing I want his touch so, so badly. I surprise myself by groaning as his hand slips beneath my t-shirt and he kisses me again to deaden the noise, as he does so allowing his hand to travel upwards towards my braless chest. I gasp as his knuckles graze my breast, and he stops for a moment, breaking the kiss and looking at me with a depth of intensity I have never seen before in those beautiful hazel eyes of his. When he speaks his voice is guttural, desperate. “Is this OK?” I just nod, breathless. It’s definitely OK. More than OK. And so his hand continues its journey, fingers flicking over my nipple and sending jolts of electricity straight through my body. I yelp and he puts the finger of his free hand over his lips to tell me to keep quiet. I’m trying, I really am, but his other hand has now found my right breast and is working its magic, my whole body breaks out in goosebumps and I moan again, but quietly.

I don’t know how long this goes on for. Time loses all meaning as he manipulates me and works away at me, each touch thrilling me more than I thought possible and making me long for more. I want to touch him too but am a little hesitant, conscious that in this situation - as in all situations - Chris is likely to be the one who wants to be in control. And, given our respective positions right now, he absolutely is. Tentatively I reach my free hand out and stroke his arm, my fingernails trailing around the enormous bicep that’s bursting out of his t-shirt sleeve. Those arms that I’ve admired so often. Those arms that have lifted and thrown me, held me and kept me safe on the ice. I think I feel him shudder a little as I reach under his sleeve, but he doesn’t stop me, and his own hand shifts position back to my stomach again.

He sits back a little and stares and me. I wonder if he wants me to remove my top, but the handcuffs make that logistically impossible. He settles for pushing it up above my breasts, and I shiver as I’m exposed to the cool air. He takes in my prostrate form then leans towards me with lust-darkened eyes. He kisses me again, with more force this time, a hunger burning within him that is mirroring itself in me. He leans further down and kisses my neck and I giggle as his stubble brushes against the sensitive skin. I reach up and bury my fingers in his hair while he moves his head still further down so he is now at chest level.

I’m torn between wanting to watch his every movement and wanting to close my eyes to enjoy the anticipation. Before I can decide, he has his mouth around one of my breasts, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin of my nipple, each movement sparking a pleasure I’ve never experienced before from deep inside me, and I’m moaning again. I can hear him laugh a little, his breath tingling against my skin. He breaks away to look at me again, intense eyes travelling the length of my body, and I no longer feel vulnerable. Looking at him looking at me, I’m struck by an epiphany: this is what I’ve wanted from the moment I first clapped eyes on him. My dorky, overenthusiastic little Blond Prince from the rink is now my King, and now I can have him all to myself. Not just on the ice. 

I reach my free hand across to him again, fingers once more playing with his upper arms, allowing my hand to trace patterns across his skin, dragging slowly up to his neckline and down. I flatten my palm against his chest and can’t help but gasp a little at the firmness of his muscles beneath the thin cotton of his top. His lip curls in amusement and I almost blush again, but a new-found confidence envelops me and I hear myself commanding him to remove his t-shirt. He hesitates, but only for a second before acquiescing, pulling the material over his head, leaving his hair adorably ruffled.

I’m staring again. He is beautiful. Of course, I’ve seen him before, half-naked in changing rooms and costume fittings. But this is different, no longer having to hide stolen glances I was only half aware of giving. Now I am looking. Properly looking. Taking him in. And he is perfect. My hand is back against his torso and he gasps a little as my fingers dance around the sensitive skin of his nipple. He leans his head back and lets me take control, and I explore my new found play thing with glee. I’m touching every inch of his perfect chest, tracing a fingernail across his collar bone, trailing down over his Adam’s apple to his taut stomach, flicking teasingly into his belly button and then down, to that maddening trail which leads further below…

And suddenly he grabs my wrist and forces me back against the pillow again, my brief foray into being the one in control over. He’s kissing me again, hard and hungry, his whole body leaning into me and I can sense the urgency in him. It’s a need I share, and when I feel him pulling at the waistline of my leggings it doesn’t take much encouragement. I raise my hips and allow him to strip me, naked now apart from the t-shirt bunched around my neck. I’d almost forgotten the handcuffs, my left hand hanging limp and useless above my head. But right now, I don’t need it. He’s kissing me again with a force that betrays his desire, his tongue delving between my lips with desperation, his hand resting against my thigh. My whole body is tingling with palpable anticipation, and I know, more than anything, I need him to touch me. 

I don’t have to wait long. I feel his hand move between my legs and he brushes against me with his thumb. My yelp is muffled by his mouth, but he breaks away to watch my reaction at his movements. Instinctively I arch my hips towards him as his fingers tease me, slowly, maddeningly, taking my breath away as he twirls his fingertip in a figure of eight across me, and I briefly wonder where he found time to get so good at this. “Oh God, Chris…” The need in my voice surprises me, and Chris responds by pushing his finger inside of me, watching me as I writhe beneath his expert touch. I can feel myself starting to lose control already, an urge building from deep and low within me, his movements flooding my body with sensations I’ve never felt before. And just as I think I’m about to tip over the edge, he stops, pulls away from me and slides to the bottom of the bed, so he is on his knees before me. Carefully and deliberately, he takes one of my legs in each hand and pushes my knees apart. I can hear myself whimpering slightly, partly with disappointment at the sudden cessation of sensation, and partly in anticipation of what he’s about to do. He gives me one last lingering, lustful look before lowering his head between my legs. I don’t recognise the sound I make as I feel his tongue against me.

My eyes are closed now, head thrown back against the headboard, hips rising in response to Chris’s movements as his tongue works away at me, flicking and licking, swirling and lapping, each movement expertly keeping me teetering on the edge of an explosion of pleasure that’s threatening to overtake me at any moment. I’m audibly wailing with abandon now, no longer caring about disturbing my parents. Right now, all that matters is the electric wet sensation of what Chris is doing between my legs. Suddenly I feel his fingertips on the inside of my thigh, stroking gently as his tongue dances across me, and the anticipation is almost too much. I vaguely hear myself breathlessly whispering, “Oh God, please…” as if I was somebody else, and then he pushes a finger inside me, rubbing in time with the flicking of his tongue, pleasure building from dual points, and this is it, this is enough… I come harder than I thought possible, laser lights dancing behind my tightly closed eyes, my body reacting by clenching and pulsing around his fingers, a low “ugnf…” escaping my lips. He gets up from the floor and sits beside me again, wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand before kissing me with a hunger even deeper and more intense than before. I can taste myself on him and am surprised by the fact that that excites me rather than disgusts me. 

He leans across my still-tingling form, one arm either side of me, all bulging biceps and glistening skin, and my free hand is all over him once more, exploring and seeking out, my nails leaving little red trails across his chest. I can feel the need emanating from him and, well, after the gift he’s just given me, who am I to keep him waiting? I stroke gently across his lower stomach, slowly, allowing myself to appreciate each defined muscle in turn. He’s starting to shake from what I’m hoping is desire rather than the strain of holding himself in this position for so long. I allow my fingers to dip into the waistband of his joggers, no longer able or willing to ignore the obvious swelling visible beneath the thin material. He grunts and shifts, allowing me easier access, and I push my hand fully inside, grasping what I find eagerly. 

Now, I’m not a virgin. But I’m far from what you’d call experienced, and it’s enthusiasm rather than expertise which guides my actions from this point on. I gauge Chris’s reaction at each tickle and touch, each pull and grasp, each flick of a finger or twist of a wrist, and am spurred on by the low growling in his throat and the fire dancing in his eyes as he looks at me. I hardly notice that my left hand has now gone numb, hanging pointlessly from the cuff as it is; it’s all about my right hand and how I’m using it to make my partner’s powerful form shake and curse above me. I almost take a moment to be impressed with myself before Chris suddenly grabs my wrist and pins it above my head, holding it against the headboard with one hand while fully removing his joggers and underwear with the other. When he speaks, his voice is low, rasping, thick with need, and all he says is my name… 

I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable, moaning again as he pushes himself inside me, my body still on high alert from my earlier climax, each nerve ending inside me hyper-sensitive to his every movement. He fills me completely, perfectly, it feels like we were made to be physically linked like this, and subconsciously I’m moving my hips in time with his as he starts to rock back and forward, grinding himself against me. In surprise I feel the electric sensations start to build again as he pushes into me. I want to reach down and touch him but both hands are restrained now, one by the handcuffs and the other by Chris’s own strong hand. I feel vulnerable again, but that just adds to the excitement, and my lips fall open, my gasps caught by Chris’s own mouth as he kisses me again with such an obvious force and desire that it almost sends me over the edge once more. He’s grunting too, each of our vocalisations muffled by the other, and he must have felt my closeness, because with his spare hand he reaches down between our bodies as he continues to pound into me, and all it takes is a brush of his fingertips against me and I am coming again, this time with an intensity matched by him as his movements stop, he pushes himself back on his arms and looks me straight in the eye as I feel shots of wet warmth darting inside of me, and his only sound is a strangled gurgle of desire as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

It seems an age before he climbs off of me, frozen as we are in a tableau of togetherness, neither of us wanting to bring the moment to an end. But eventually he shifts, lying on his back next to me, awkwardly fitting ourselves onto the single bed as best we can. I prop myself up on my elbow and stroke his sweat-dampened hair, watching his chest rise and fall, taking him in in all his post-coital glory. “Well, that wasn’t how I imagined tonight going.”

He laughs, rubbing his eyes. “No. Me neither.” Then he sits up and looks at me, brushing my fringe out of my eyes. “Maybe we could do it again some time?”

I feel my skin tingle and a blush creeping beneath his fingers which he trails across my cheek, and suddenly my shyness is back. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.” He smiles, and settles back down beside me again, and reality starts to fade back in, cutting through my fuzziness; the coolness of the air, the unfamiliar but exciting smell of us, the static sound of the record player’s needle continually jumping back and forth against the centre of a record which has long since finished… Suddenly, a sharp pain flicks across my left wrist. Oh God. I’d forgotten about the cuffs. “Chris?” I squeak. “Don’t go to sleep! What are we going to do about this?” I jangle the chain of the handcuffs and yelp at the sensation it causes in my numb joint.

“Hmm?” He half opens one eye and takes in my helpless form. “Oh yeah, that.” Reluctantly he gets up and goes to his holdall, discarded and forgotten at the end of the bed. I would have taken a moment to admire his magnificent naked body if I hadn’t been so embarrassed. 

“What are you going to do? You can’t call the station, I’d be mortified…”

He laughs. “They won’t mind, they’re very broad-minded. Only kidding, here it is!” And with that, he holds up a small metal key.

“You… you had it all along?” I’m too relieved to be angry, but I do manage a “You utter bastard!” as he unlocks the cuff and I can move my left hand again, rubbing my wrist to get the feeling back. I hit him again too for good measure.

“Hey!” He laughs again, but it’s with affection. “I didn’t see you complaining a few minutes ago…” He draws me into a hug, kissing the side of my head and I press my palms into his glorious back. He’s right, I wasn’t complaining. But perhaps next time I will hide the handcuffs. I smile to myself a little, imagining what I could do with two free hands…


End file.
